The Next Chapter

One of the reasons that I finally succumbed to blogging is to connect with those following

our Journey to Maylin. 

Our daughter has lived all of her life in an orphanage in Ch*na. If we take the information we've gathered from other adoptive families, Maylin has slept in the same cribs, then the same small beds with other children from the time she was found. She has had several ayi (literally, auntie; spoken, ah-yhee) and has probably bonded with some of them. She has a limited idea of what living in a family might look like. Most likely, she's seen more hours of TV than the kids in this house had seen at her age. She may not have any formal schooling yet, and most likely knows  two English words:

"hello" and  "bye-bye."

 (Maylin is probably in the pink and white shirt behind the man's head. Peek-a-boo!)

There are things we know about her, also. She's been through a surgical correction of bilateral clubfoot. (We'll find out if that was successful when we bring her home.) Her full name has been Guo FuZhi (spoken, Gwo foo-zshur) She was found, abandoned, at approximately one week old and will soon be 6 years old. Several girls from her SWI (Social Welfare Insitution) in Tongliao (spoken, Tone-glee-ow) now live in the United States and we have contact with two of them. And that's really 

almost. 

all. 

we. 

know.

 

(Maylin is second from the left, in the blue and white stripes)

In 39 days, (scary squeal! 39!) the workers that will have traveled 20 hours on a train with our daughter will place Maylin in the arms of people who've never met her and walk away. Within hours, the adoption will be final, and she will have no choice but to leave everything she knows and begin 

The Next Chapter.

Think of a 5 or 6 year old in your life. Think of that child dropped off in the middle of a foreign culture, without the local language, without the comfort of a friend's hand, without the smells she knows, the sights she loves, or the daily routine she may dislike. Think of the loneliness of rarely seeing a face that mirrors yours. Think of the spunk it will take for her to thrive.

(Don't you want to just squish her sweet face? Maylin was probably 4 in this photo)

And then, shed a small tear for our daughter who is giving up all she knows
because someone in Ch*na thinks she is worth a
Different Life. 
Because Someone asked a family to open their arms just a little bit wider
to tuck in a small daughter and all the big adventures she will bring to them.

Children may be my one weakness.

Flowers From My Father

Have you ever had one of

*those days*

when breakfast was delivered to you in bed with a smile, and the kids had picked up their rooms, taken out the trash, fed the animals, put their clean clothes in the assigned locations, and gone outside to play together nicely for a couple hours? A day when the gallon of milk filled every cereal bowl at the table,  the growing boy's jeans still hit his tennis shoe at a fashionable length, and the washing machine repair man, who arrived on time, said, No problem, ma'am. I tightened that loose connection, and there will be no charge for my visit.

Ever have one of those?

Me neither.

---BUT I HAVE HAD OTHER TYPES OF DAYS---

I won't even describe mine to you (today) lest we begin to "one-up" each other and get bogged down in the realities of living life in the Mother Lane. or in the Wifing Lane. or in the Home Educator Lane. or in the Girlfriend Lane. I must say I have some amazing stories collected in my head, as well as on paper, of days with v.e.r.y. laughable moments...at least, they're laughable once those moments have passed.

On days with not-too-happy endings and tear-the-hair-out afternoons, I am grateful for 

Flowers From My Father. 

I'm sure I'll someday make references to my dad, Doug. Actually, I'm positive he'll get his own post sometime, (you will, too, Mom,) but when I say

Flowers From My Father...

I mean those little gifts that my heavenly Father leaves in quiet places to say,
I love you, Girl. 

Flowers, like:

the golden cast of sunset across the busy swing set
strong brown legs carrying a happy smile into my arms
the laughter of the kids in the pool
the single lily by the roadside, splashing color onto a drainage ditch
the exuberant warble of a hidden bird
a hard-working, helpful husband coming home every night because he loves us more than he loves himself
the chocolate kiss from sweet baby lips
a text from a friend that understands
an empty parking spot in the coveted shade (no matter how far it is from the store's entrance!)
a teenager's 'Night, Mom. Love you.

Things that make even the I'd-rather-not-talk-about-it days have sparkle, and life, and love. 

And that's the plan for this little blogspot. 

Musings of an honest friend, rantings of a frustrated mom, longings of my heart. I'll see if I can place them here, and when you stop by, bring a cup of hot tea. 
It's my one weakness.